


In Which The Transporter Beam Is Functional

by orphan_account



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, Mistletoe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-16
Updated: 2012-12-16
Packaged: 2017-11-21 06:12:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/594377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a routine mission on an alien planet, Kirk and Spock are beamed onto the Enterprise, only to be met with some surprise holiday foliage hanging over their heads.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Which The Transporter Beam Is Functional

**Author's Note:**

> Written for ksadvent 2012! I think this is the most romantic thing I've ever written and it's just Kirk and Spock making out.

“Ho, ho, ho!” cheered Scotty from the control booth. “Lest my eyes deceive me—and they have not, McCoy examined them just last week—but it appears you two’ve found yourselves under mistletoe!”

One of the sleeves on Kirk’s shirt had been torn apart in a kerfuffle with on the alien planet they had just left, and the tricorder was still open in his palm. Kirk froze on the transporter pad, mouth agape and hazel eyes wide.

Spock wore his customary bemused expression—angled eyebrow as black as the vacuum of space, stifled glee that set eyes glowing brighter than the stars. Vulcans did not smile, as one ought to know, therefore the tugging at the corner of his mouth was by no means a smile. His fingers were entwined at the small of his back, and while there was a magnetism urging him to look at the mistletoe hanging over Kirk and him, he merely turned toward the man beside him, angling his eyebrow higher.  
  
Spock untangled his fingers and coughed into a fist. “Captain,” he said, the heartbeat in his abdomen quickening as Kirk swerved around to face him, yet his countenance was as calm as ever. “While I have never witnessed nor partaken in the Terran custom of mistletoe, I recall from the research in my early years at Starfleet that it is customary to—”  
  
“Y-yes,” murmured Kirk, staring dizzily to the left of Spock. “I, too, am familiar with the custom. No need to explain your research.”  
  
A jittery throng of yeoman lingered outside the doorway, stealing peaks as engineers came in and out of the transporter room. Scotty was not so polite as to hide behind doors, but watched with chin resting on palm. The chattering from the hallway instilled sense back into Kirk, and the captain shook his head to whisk away confusion through his ears. When he finally met Spock’s mirthful gaze, no longer did he look nonplussed, and a flirtatious spark glimmered in his eyes.  
  
“Mr. Spock,” he said.  
  
Spock tilted his head. “Captain.”  
  
They were staring at one another for a long breath of silence before Kirk spoke, now in a grandiose rhythm, “It appears we have no choice, Mr. Spock. It is custom that when two people are caught beneath mistletoe they must share a kiss. As Captain of this vessel, I must carry out all the laws and customs so to set a standard for my crew. Forgive me, but I am afraid we cannot move from the transporter beam until we fulfill this custom.”  
  
Scotty and the yeomen went to the back of Spock’s mind, and all he focused on was Kirk’s mouth—the bow of his lower lip, which Spock’s imagination conjured antique protractors to measure its angle, for he would not want modern technology to rob him of splaying fingertips over pressure points, feeling as Kirk’s pulse raced, savoring the scratch of stumble on his finger pads.  
  
Kirk coughed lightly. His stance was strong but gaze uncertain. The trepidations frightened Spock—logically, the situation was thus: two men beamed up from a planet, only to be caught beneath mistletoe, their friendship that of captain and first officer. When Kirk spoke of fulfilling the Terran custom, perhaps he was not alluding to a desire for romance, but meant the words at face value. Kirk would not be the man he was without a devotion to respecting cultural traditions, no matter whether he agreed with them or not. Not wanting to pressure Kirk, Spock discarded the fanciful notion of a kiss and instead raised two fingers, hoping a Vulcan kiss would suffice.  
  
Scotty grumbled by the console, but Spock closed his eyes, waiting for the press of Kirk’s fingers to his own. Rather than the gentle touch Spock was expecting, Kirk engulfed Spock’s fingers with his hand, tugging until Spock opened his eyes in reflex.  
  
“Correct me if I’m wrong,” said Kirk, a smile faint at the corner of his mouth, which Spock found quite distracting, “but while some of your aspects are Vulcan, others are more primitive. I might be so presumptuous and say those aspects are even human. Now, seeing as I am one of the two trapped beneath this mistletoe, it is only right I have a say in how we deal with this situation. I was not lying when I said we should uphold the custom, and as mistletoe is an Earth custom, and humans do not kiss with fingers, it is only logical that we do not either.”  
  
Kirk released his hand, and in a speed neither too slow nor too fast for Spock’s liking, Kirk traced a trail along his arm that was electrifying. Despite a layer of blue clothing separating their skin, still the hairs on his forearm rose. He felt chilled and roasted despite the lukewarm temperature of the transporter beam, and breath hitched in his throat, not to be released for even his unconscious mind could not attend to anything but the sensations Kirk elicited in him. Spock felt ludicrous as he devolved to an adolescent state, but his spiked nerves prevented him from exploring his shame further. When Kirk’s hand came to rest on his jaw, fingers grazing the lobe of his ear, the heat radiating from Kirk eased his tense muscles into relaxing.  
  
Spock's eyes were nearly closed when their gazes met. They looked at one another for no longer than a second, but the moment felt like an eternity. Logic had been set aside so Spock could savor the feel of Kirk’s thumb massaging his cheek, and the loss of logic was the only way to explain the deluded thought of believing Kirk to be initiating a mind meld. Only a mind meld could rob Spock of rationality, and Kirk positioned his fingers more or less in the appropriate areas.  
  
Then Kirk kissed him.  
  
At first the kiss was gentle, not what Spock had anticipated from a man considered well-versed in such things, yet his lips pressed softly against Spock’s. Spock was so endeared; his chest swelled with adoration and desire. He wrapped one arm around Kirk’s back, a heat rising in him as his fingers skittered past the warm skin exposed from Kirk's torn shirt, and let the other go to the nape of his neck, toying with blond hair.  
  
Kirk surged forward, stepping out of his transporter beam and into Spock's, and the gentle kiss that he first met Spock with became a fond memory, replaced by a ferocity than took Spock completely by surprise. Only through innate meditation techniques did Spock stop himself from moaning. He lost sense of time, concentrating only on the kiss, and was utterly surprised when Scotty let out a whoop from the console.  
  
The abrupt noise startled the pair, and Kirk tore apart. Eyes glazed over, he stepped away and stumbled off the transporter pad. The movement had happened too quickly for Spock to register, and he watched through dizzied vision as the captain went to Scotty and mumbled about discoveries made on the planet Spock and Kirk had just beamed up from. Spock did not trust his limbs to function properly, so instead of leaving the transporter pad he clasped his hands on the small of his back and began to meditate.  
  
“Yeoman,” he heard Kirk say, “if you could, ah, please clear away that—that—well, you know,  _that_.”  
  
Spock did not smile, but he felt like smiling.  
  
“Oh, and Mr. Spock?”  
  
He felt a jolt, yet looked to Kirk with a calm, tranquil countenance.  
  
Kirk still looked dazed, but he voice was firm. “I expect you back on the bridge in the next ten minutes. I shall be relieving Mr. Sulu of the con.”  
  
“Yes, Captain.”  
  
They watched each other for the length of a single breath, then Kirk let his gaze flicker to the mistletoe. With a diplomatic nod, Kirk made to leave the room, walking past the little crowd of yeomen.


End file.
